Infinity
by kurgaya
Summary: Ichigo/Toshiro - "Maybe if you two stop dancing around each other and actually start dancing with each other, we'll all be better off?"


**Notes**: This was meant to be a drabble. It got a little long. (Psst, it's xTKx - I've changed my username)

* * *

**Infinity**

_Tell me that you want to dance  
__I want to feel your pulse on mine  
__Just treat me like a stolen glance  
__To yourself__  
_

- The Golden Floor, Snow Patrol

* * *

"Taicho, you haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?"

Toshiro hummed in response, his gaze still firmly locked to the world outside his office window, and his fukutaicho, actually sitting behind her own desk for once, gave a little sigh. Rangiku shuffled around her papers, her stack smaller than that of her taicho's but substantial nonetheless, and carefully screwed the ink-pot lid back on. Still her taicho did not turn towards her, to either answer her question or to reprimand her for making unnecessary noise, so she sagged her shoulders and scanned her desk for something to throw. The brushes were delicate and would probably snap on contact with her taicho's stubborn forehead (she didn't doubt her aim), so she picked up one of the Biros she had nicked from the human world (they turned out to be very handy for rapid note taking). Just as she cocked back her arm Toshiro turned, the beat of his nails against the teacup in his hand pausing for a moment, as his sharp eyes deducing the scene across the room.

He rose a single eyebrow in question and she wisely lowered her arm. Not deterred by imminent punishment however, Rangiku huffed her strawberry hair away from her mouth and explained:

"You've not being paying attention."

_Well_, Toshiro's expression seemed to say, his mouth compressed into a thin line and his eyes an evaluative scrutiny, _you don't often grace the office with your presence, so why are you surprised?_

She frowned back at him and crossed her arms, trying to present herself as wholly unsatisfied with that answer.

"Fine," he sighed eventually, withering under her glare. "My apologies, Matsumoto. Could you please repeat the question?" Even as he said this, however, Rangiku noted that his body twitched to turn back to the window, one of his fingers tapping the cup in a sporadic jump that appeared to surprise even him. He put the cup down in a manner that suggested it still contained some tea, now sitting cold and unwanted, and glanced down at the paperwork he should have been doing. It must have been written in a foreign language or the like, for he stared at it hopelessly for just a moment and then let his gaze wander to the window with an accepting sigh.

"Taicho?" Rangiku called. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Matsumoto." An automatic response learnt over the years. "Just thinking, that's all."

Wanting nothing more than to reach out and help him, Rangiku had to fight to remain where she was. They had gotten close over the years, especially after the Winter War, and she knew they relied on each other for more than just their lives in the battlefield. Their relationship was still mostly professional, however, but Rangiku had a suspicion that they'd one day sit somewhere between best friends and family, and they'd both be perfectly content with that. But for now she kept her distance, letting her words offer the comfort she knew her hands couldn't.

"Can I help with anything?"

Toshiro replied with a sad smile and a glance out of the corner of his eye. "No Matsumoto, it's okay. You don't have to stay if you have other places to be."

She nodded and decided to leave him to his thoughts. She wasn't terribly worried about his mental health at that moment, but she'd get to the bottom of his musings at some point anyway. For now he needed time to sort himself out, so she bowed curtly and turned to leave, a folder to be delivered to the Thirteenth tucked under one arm. A whispered, "It's not worth it anyway," bid her goodbye; she shut the door and pretended not to hear.

* * *

The trip to the Thirteenth Division was a short once, if she shunpoed all the way, but as she had no where pressing that she had to be, Rangiku had decided to stroll instead, and maybe catch up with a few people on the way. There were loud shouts and roars coming from the Eleventh when she passed, the collective spiritual energy of the many barbaric members keeping most people away from the rowdy area, and it was because of this that she almost missed Ichigo Kurosaki approaching until he'd been only a few metres away. He was the Fifth Division taicho now, having spent a few years jumping between and annoying most of the taicho before settling for a decade in the Ninth, where he'd learnt to manage the ropes of being a high-seated officer under the steady hands of Shuuhei Hisagi. They had worked incredibly well together over the years, and Rangiku knew that their friendship was still as strong, if not stronger, now that they were both taicho. It had been Shuuhei, after all, who had presented Ichigo with his haori after _demolishing_ the Proficiency Test required to become a taicho.

"Hello Ichigo," she greeted, and they bowed politely to each other. He grinned at her and wiped his brow as they fell into step, his striking hair damp and sticking to his forehead. His black kosode was open to reveal the shitagi covering his chest, his hakama-himo was tied terribly around his waist, and his haori was folded over one of his arms, all to give the impression of an unkempt teenager instead of the refined young man that he was. Judging from the sounds resounding from the Eleventh, Rangiku thought it was safe to say that he'd just come from brawling with Ikkaku and Renji ('training' was putting their outrageous routines too lightly in her mind).

"Hey Rangiku-san," he replied cheerfully, heaving a deep breath before he continued, "You off to the Thirteenth?"

The snowdrop insignia printed on the folder in her hands wasn't incredibly obvious, it being maroon and the folder a solid black, but Ichigo hadn't gotten a flavour of every division for nothing. His time in the Tenth had forced him to perceive, deduce, and conclude prior to making a decision - Toshiro had, sensibly, been adamant at quelling Ichigo's foolish brashness before it had gotten him killed. ("You stop, look, and listen before crossing a road in the human world do you not, Kurosaki? Why wouldn't you do the same before lifting your zanpakuto and jumping into the fray? Both could get you killed, but one will _certainly _endanger the people around you. Don't let your lack of judgement be the reason for unnecessary death.") Rangiku had been present for a couple of the 'lessons', and even now she still remembered how brutal her taicho had been in his approach. His no-nonsense forwardness had paid off tremendously though - Ichigo had only forgotten to observe just once since then, but his gut reaction had ultimately saved many lives that day.

"These are for Kuchiki-fukutaicho," she agreed. "It's part of the project we're doing."

The project was for improving the methods of communication around the Seireitei, especially during battle. The Hell Butterflies were lovely and great for everyday use, but slow, fragile insects were not practical in times of emergency. They wanted to design something like the Soul Pager, which had been based off of human mobile phones, but it couldn't depend on signal or anything that could be cut off or disconnected. As Soul Society was in a time of peace the research wasn't pressing, but their orders were to try and develop some blueprints as soon as possible.

"Awesome," Ichigo said, nodding. "Rukia was talking to me about that just yesterday, actually. She made some notes she'll probably be sharing with you soon."

Rangiku nodded at this information, glad she had such an efficient partner for the work. Nothing would have been done if she's been stuck with someone like Renji. "I'll ask her about it when I get there," she said, nodding in greeting to a pair of officers who bowed at them as they passed. "Are you heading there now?"

"Yeah, I want to ask her about this meal tonight," Ichigo offered, looking slightly lost. "No one's really told me much about it, other than that I'm supposed to wear my best kimono or something - oh, and red?"

Eyes widening, Rangiku blurted a surprised, "You don't know anything?" that came out ruder than she'd intended, if Ichigo's wince was anything to go by.

"Ah," he said, rubbing his neck with his free hand. "Well, I know what we're celebrating. Sort of." He paused, perhaps hoping that Rangiku would fill in the gap in his knowledge for him. "It's the anniversary of the Gotei Thirteen? I dunno what one - the thirtieth? You celebrate every hundred years don't you? Or something?"

"You're not that far off the mark," Rangiku assured smoothly, watching him sigh in relief. "We do celebrate every hundred years, but it's actually the founding of Seireitei we're celebrating, not the formation of the Gotei Thirteen - that's why it's such a big thing. Tonight there'll be feasts and parties all across Seireitei - being a taicho you'll be expected to attend the main one in the First Division, along with the other taicho and fukutaicho. You have to wear something red tonight to honour all of the shinigami that died, and you'll be given a ribbon to represent every major battle that you've taken part in. For you that'll just be the Winter War, so you'll just get one ribbon."

"Okay," Ichigo said, his expression thoughtful as he stored the information away. "Do I have to do anything else? Like give gifts?"

Rangiku hummed, thinking back to her experience of the last celebration. "Well, hopefully you can dance...?"

He groaned. "Please tell me it's not compulsory."

Chuckling, she replied with a sympathetic, "Sorry. But it doesn't have to be anything special - just enough so that you don't step on people's toes."

"Figuratively or literally?" he asked lightly with a shake of his head. "Ahh, I think I can do that." Being able to and wanting to where two different things though, and he groaned unhappily at the prospect of making a fool of himself. "Great. That's something to look forward to."

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling reassuringly as they reached the gates of the Thirteenth Division. "Most of the more nontraditional taicho can't dance,_and_ most of the fukutaicho. If you're worried, why not ask Kuchiki-fukutaicho?"

They paused their conversation to greet the shinigami at the gates, the shorter of the two doing a double-take at Ichigo's presence. Rangiku whispered that maybe he should put his haori on, but he just laughed her off and gave a little shrug. "Maybe," he said to both of her pieces of advice, but he didn't make a move to neaten up his clothing in any way, so she doubted he'd go to the Thirteenth fukutaicho for dancing lessons. They continued their conversation right up to the main office of the division, where Ichigo knocked politely on the door and slid it open when they received a chirpy masculine voice bidding them entrance from inside. They both bowed simultaneously, Rangiku dropping lower than Ichigo to show more respect to the man with a higher status to her, and Ukitake and Rukia both bowed back, Rukia again being more formal towards Ichigo than Rangiku, but only just given their friendship.

"Yo Rukia, Ukitake-san," Ichigo then went on to say, throwing himself down on one of the sofas. "How's it going?"

As Ukitake and Ichigo started to converse, Rangiku went and stood by Rukia, perched on the other sofa, and presented her with the folder. "Thank you," said the raven haired fukutaicho, flicking through the first few pages. "I've got some notes for you too, I'll get them." She smiled up at Rangiku and went to stand, but the Tenth fukutaicho waved the action away, saying, "I'll get them, I'm not staying long anyway. Where are they?"

"On my desk," Rukia said, and Rangiku turned to see Ukitake pointing towards the papers in question as Ichigo chatted away from the sofa. "I've been thinking of approaching Kurotsuchi-taicho soon," Rukia continued, as Rangiku picked up the papers. "But best you go through that first. I've drawn up an idea too, using the notes we made last month. There's parts missing and I'm not completely sure how one part'll work - that's why I want to see Kurotsuchi-taicho."

"Okay," Rangiku said, happy with the notes in front of her. Ichigo laughed loudly at something Ukitake said, and it was this that reminded her that she had something more important to say: "Oh, by the way, I don't think Ichigo's got anything red to wear tonight." She glanced over at him to confirm her suspicion; he was blushing a deep scarlet in embarrassment, and she figured if all else failed he could just wear that.

"What?" Rukia exclaimed, mouth dropping open. "Ichigo you idiot! Why didn't you say so?" She jumped up from the sofa, knocking all of the work balanced on her knees to the floor, and cursed as she bent down to pick it all up. Once she straightened it was clear she was scowling, and Ichigo made a noise of distress at how her expression implied she was five seconds away from throwing the folder at him. "We need to go and get you something! Do you at least have a formal kimono?"

"Um."

She dropped the work to the sofa and marched around the coffee table to haul him up by his collar. "Excuse me, taicho," she said, bowing. "I need to sort this idiot out." She tugged Ichigo's kosode and he yelped, breaking out into panicked stutters to let him go. Ukitake just laughed and wished her luck; Rangiku snorted and watched with amusement as the fukutaicho dragged a man almost twice her height out of the room, complaining about his 'uselessness' all of the way down the corridor.

She wasn't sure who she felt worse for.

* * *

The time for the meal came around fast that night. Rangiku had returned to the Tenth a few hours after Rukia had dragged Ichigo off to do some last-minute shopping, and found that her taicho had eventually gotten the rest of his paperwork done. As she still didn't know what had been bothering him earlier she decided this was probably a good thing, and promptly put aside her worries for the time being. The taicho and fukutaicho of a division were expected to turn up to the event together, so after spending over an hour getting ready in her quarters, she had ventured over to the large, private taicho quarters where she knew he'd be. Access to such quarters were limited, even to her, but her taicho was patiently waiting outside when she approached, having probably been there for ten or minutes.

"Matsumoto," he greeted softly, appreciatively eyeing her kimono, scarlet hair pin and necklace, and dark eyeshadow. "You look lovely."

Personally she thought the sakura petals lining the bottom of her kimono made her look like she was part of the Sixth Division, but then again she couldn't imagine Kuchiki-taicho turning up wearing pink and white flowers, so perhaps that wasn't a problem. Kyoraku-taicho maybe, but that was a different matter altogether.

"Thank you," she replied, glad for an honest comment that didn't suggest one was having inappropriate thoughts about her. She'd had her fair share of those when wearing something other than her uniform, but she took pride in the fact that she felt safe around her taicho. "You look very handsome, taicho," she returned, and he did. Toshiro spent most of his time in his uniform, working seven days a week and practically all day, so seeing him out of it was a shocking change every time. It wasn't always a good thing - sometimes he was cooped up in the Fourth, or on sick leave and wearing one of his cheaper yukatas, but he did occasionally take a day off to visit his grandmother. Formal wear, however, he only wore once in a blue moon, and Rangiku worried before every event that he'd ruined or grown out of his only kimonos (both were quite unlikely, but not impossible) and had nothing to wear. He surprised her again and again by turning up in a variety of kimonos, and tonight was no exception. She usually associated her taicho with icy, calm colours - blue, green - but tonight he was wearing a striking red kimono, with the lining of the collar, sleeves, and wide obi belt contrasting with a simple, yet effective, black. His belt, however, had a delicate pattern of silver weaved through it, just a small amount, and it instantly made Rangiku think of a calm, cloudless night sky.

"Thank you," he replied, his cheeks tinged pink. "Shall we be off?"

Rangiku grinned and leapt forward, linking their arms together and dragging him down the path. He half-grunted in distaste and mumbled something under his breath, but when she released his arm to wordlessly offer him the chance to pull away, he tightened his grip and stayed put by her side. They strode slowly to the First, unfortunately quite a way, and were directed to where they would be having their meal by an unseated officer with awe in his eyes. Most of the taicho and fukutaicho were already there when they arrived, so the two Tenth Division officers parted ways and went and sat in their assigned seats. Rangiku found herself sat between Nanao and Yachiru and opposite Renji, with Rukia on his left and Isane on his right. Renji didn't look the least bit perturbed at being surrounded by women, and easily engaged himself in conversation about the human world.

After settling down Rangiku turned to check on her taicho, but knew before she'd even turned in her seat that she didn't need to worry. Like the fukutaicho table, the taicho hadn't been seated according to their division, so Toshiro was between Kyoraku and Soifon and opposite Ichigo, of all people. Shuuhei was next to Ichigo, opposite Soifon (an interesting choice), and Ukitake was on Ichigo's other side. Unohana and the elder Kuchiki were both there somewhere, but Rangiku only glimpsed them as she swiveled back around to enjoy her own company. Hopefully Toshiro would forget what had been bothering him earlier, and if he didn't, well, that was what alcohol was for. She'd cheer him up somehow.

The night progressed steadily, time but a blur amid the laughter, food, and drink. The ribbons had been handed out before the meal, with most of the taicho and fukutaicho only bearing one. Some of the older members of the Gotei Thirteen had multiple, but those that understood the significance of the individual ribbons kept quiet about it. Even the Winter War wasn't mentioned throughout the course of the evening, instead the topic of conversation was generally something lighthearted and humourous - jokes and witty comments were made that had them gasping for air. As the hour grew late the plates and bowls were cleared away, and those still sober enough to register the suggestion all moved into one of the halls a few rooms down. There were more tables and various places to sit along the wall of the room they migrated to, but the vast majority of the space had been left open for what Rangiku knew to be the substitute dance floor. What decorations she could see were bright but tasteful, but the lights were low so it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and observe.

People had already split off into groups and continued with their conversations, though two of the new fukutaicho had taken to the dance floor the minute the music had started to play. Rangiku took the time to look around for her taicho, though a gentle touch to her arm suggested that he'd found her first.

"Matsumoto," he said, inclining his head into a ghost of a bow. "How are you?"

His smile looked slightly forced, and his eyes held a sadness she'd never associated with him before. He had appeared to be in high spirits earlier, so she couldn't comprehend why such a sorrow had settled on his shoulders. She wondered if someone had done something to upset him, either intentionally or unintentionally, and if it was the former she would gladly give them a piece of her mind.

"I'm having a great time!" she said instead, not wanting both of them to worry. "You better ask me to dance later, taicho," she teased, winking at him. "Only if you know how to, of course!"

"Ah," he breathed, but the tiny moment his eyes made into the depths of the room implied he might not have been answering her. His blush made her follow his gaze with some trepidation, unsure whether or not she was going to be greeted with the sight of something appropriate, but all she focused on was Ichigo and Renji talking across the room. Their heads were titled together, however, and she furrowed her brow as Ichigo rubbed his neck at something Renji said, both of them grinning like idiots. Renji looked proud for whatever reason, and when he turned to catch her eye, his delighted expression doubled in size and he winked at her, inclining his head towards the man beside him. Ichigo didn't appear to be doing anything special - he was just tapping the glass in his hands with his nails, looking like he wanted to ground to swallow him up, stunning kimono (courtesy of Kuchiki-fukutaicho, no doubt) and all.

Toshiro mumbled something beside her when Ichigo, too, turned their way, and it wasn't until Rangiku noticed both of them hide their faces did she realise how prime a spot she was standing in to watch them both out of the corner of her eyes at the same time.

"Oh," she said. Renji chuckled wholeheartedly and clapped Ichigo on the back before pushing him towards them. The taicho stumbled and almost dropped his drink; Toshiro huffed a laugh in response.

"_Ooh_," she repeated. "Oh my god."

Finally, Toshiro turned to look at her. "Matsumoto?" he queried, and she realised he must be the only genius ever to have existed _dense enough_ not to fully understand what was _right in front of his nose_.

"Taicho, _seriously_," she stressed, mouth agape in a disbelieving mirth. "Go, go ask him for a dance."

He actually did a double-take. "What?"

She placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him gently towards the dance floor. "Dance. Ichigo. Go."

"I'm not - what? What?"

"Toshiro Hitsugaya," she commanded, spinning him around to face her. His eyes were wide and startled, and she wanted to simultaneously give him a hug and shove him into the deep end. She didn't know if he'd ever been in a relationship before, though she would say she was ninety-nine percent positive that he hadn't, and that thought actually scared her. Her taicho was so young but he was far from stupid, but there were just some things you couldn't learn from a text book. "Ichigo is going to come over here in a moment wanting to know if you would like to dance. And do you know what you're doing to do? You're going to drag him over to the dance floor and teach the idiot how to do exactly that, because I know for a fact that he is absolutely hopeless."

"But - "

"One dance taicho," she said, softening her tone because, God, he looked like a _baby deer_. "Trust me, sometimes you just have to go for it. And hey, maybe if you two stop dancing around each other and actually start dancing _with_ each other, we'll all be better off?"

He nodded silently. Over his shoulder Ichigo crept closer like a mouse, steps brief and timid, and Rangiku offered what she hoped was her most reassuring smile to him. He blushed furiously and avoided her eyes, instead gazing down at the back of Toshiro's head for the shortest of seconds, treating his presence as if he were forbidden, and every glance towards him was stolen, treasured. Rangiku turned her taicho back around when they were a foot away from each other, keeping her hands on his shoulders for unspoken support.

"Um," began Ichigo, just as Toshiro breathed, "I - " and then they both stuttered out a hurried, "Sorry, go on," that swamped them with an embarrassed quiet.

"Would - " Ichigo started again, when Toshiro did nothing but swallow a few times. He paused, swallowed himself, and then bowed so low that Rangiku barely held back a gasp in surprise. "Would you like to dance?"

She could _feel_ the heat radiating off of her taicho. Squeezing his shoulders just once, she stepped back to give them some privacy, knowing he would appreciate it. Toshiro's eventual response was inaudible to her, but Ichigo rose with laughter bursting from his lips, so she was fairly sure she knew what he'd said. There was half a minute more of conversation between them, and by the time they'd clasped their shaking hands together, Renji had slotted himself into the seat opposite the table she'd claimed.

"I think they're going to be drawing a lot of looks tonight," he said, his voice neutrally expressing fact, not opinion.

"I don't think they'll mind," she agreed. Fact, not opinion.

She turned to look across the room, where the two taicho were beginning to wear a clumsy eight-shape into the golden floor. Ichigo didn't seem to be able to decide what was worth paying more attention to, his awful footwork or the smile on Toshiro's face, and the two fukutaicho shared a knowing laugh.

"I doubt it," Renji sighed, looking smug and taking a sip of his drink. "Two barrels of sake that Ichigo trips them up."

"God no!" Rangiku cried. "That's _so_ going to happen - I'm not betting against - "

There was a collection of shocked yells from the other side of the room. Rangiku winced and didn't dare look; the red-head opposite her started to howl with laughter. People were whispering and chuckling all around them, and above them all came Ichigo's horrified apologies, hardly making any sense with the speed that which they were tumbling out of his mouth.

"Are they okay?" she asked, mentally crossing her fingers for her taicho to remain calm.

There was a beat as Renji struggled against the last of his laughter, but he nodded to her with a merry grin which soothed the remains of her concern. "They'll be fine, Rangiku," he said. "Ichigo's a dork, but they'll be fine."

She nodded. Out on the dance floor Ichigo and Toshiro had returned to a careful rotation. The rest of the shinigami present had left the floor to give them space, but either out of fear of another accident or due to a silent respect to the dancers, Rangiku was positive the couple were completely unaware either way.

* * *

**End notes**: Thanks for reading!


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